Antic
by Dread Pirate
Summary: On the day that Loki finally loses his grip on sanity, Thor finds himself unprepared for the full consequences.
1. Chapter 1

The day Loki finally went mad, Thor was actually quite a long way from his father's halls and not thinking of anything particularly dark or savage. The thunder god was, for once, at a kind of peace with himself; which was good, because being at peace with his brother at that point would have been beyond a Buddhist monk.

It was another brilliant, clear day in the realm of Asgard, and Thor was watching the falcons. He rather liked them; next to horses, they were one of the few dumb beasts to truly capture his attention. They were odd, aggressive little birds, but they generally kept well clear of the city because they were righteously terrified of the wrath of Hugin and Munin. The female bird was busy berating the smaller male, shrieking at him in high tones. Thor smiled. She reminded him of Sif, chasing Fandral out of her horse's stall. And thinking of Sif -

"Thor! Thor Odinson!"

His pleasant reverie was broken.

"My apologies, my prince. But you must come now."

His father, no doubt. Thor was just working up a good line of reasoning not to fall in line with Odin's summons _this _time when the look on the guard's face got through to him. The man was white and shaking, his eyes full of horror. Thor rose sharply, the falcons forgotten.

"What is it? Speak now!"

"It - it is your brother- "

And it was.

* * *

><p>Thor slammed into Loki's chambers without a backward (or indeed much of a forward) glance, and strode straight into the figure of Hogun, who was staggering backwards out of the doors.<p>

"Hogun! Have you seen my -"

Hogun dropped like a stone, unconscious. His face was marked with tiny dappled burns, as if he had leant over a sputtering frying pan and got far too close. Up ahead, the sound echoing slightly in the high, vaulted ceilings, someone was grunting with exertion, and there were the short, scudding sounds of well-made boots hitting the floor in a rapid tattoo. Cursing quietly to himself and more unsettled by the minute, Thor carefully stepped over his senseless friend and continued deeper into his younger brother's domain.

Loki's rooms were, uncharacteristically, a mess. Loki was (in this as in many things) an oddity amongst most of the young men in Asgard, in that he was habitually neat and conservative in his choices of decoration. His only indulgences to his personality to be seen in his rooms were a predilection for the colour green and more books than were to be found in the libraries of a dozen worlds, all arranged carefully on shelves or in trunks. Loki loved to know things, and he liked to keep his sources close by him. Fandral had often teased him about it. "You love those books more than you love your kin!"

And now his brother's beloved books lay in drifts along the edges of the furniture, piled high and haphazardly as if they had simply fallen all at once, like snow. Torn pages fluttered away from Thor's boots as he advanced, fearless, towards the sounds of conflict ahead.

"Loki!" he called. Perhaps the message had been garbled. Wrong. That was it. This mess was the result of some sorcery gone wrong, that was all. Loki was merely indisposed. A headache, perhaps. The lad was always thinking too much, wasn't he?

"It's some illness, perhaps, my prince," the messenger had said, back-pedalling rapidly after the look on Thor's face had hardened from shock into furious denial.

_It's your brother._

Thor couldn't stop the words ringing in his head.

_It's your brother. He's lost his mind. _

He walked past the ruins of Loki's library and thrust open the inner door. The bulk of Volstagg was crouched on the floor, back to Thor, the huge man's body twitching and quaking as if struck by invisible blows. Thor advanced impatiently: at last, some answers would be forthcoming.

"Volstagg -"

"Thor!" Volstagg's rumbling voice sounded strained. "If you have will, lend me your strength!"

Volstagg, as Thor rapidly discovered, was sat bodily on Loki, pinning the smaller man to the floor. Loki's boots, visible splayed out from under Volstagg's tree trunk legs, kicked wildly, heels hammering on the marble.

"What in Hel's name is going on here?" Thor wondered aloud, bending swiftly to Volstagg's aid. Closer now, and he could see his younger brother's face. Loki's pale cheeks were chapped red with rage, his green eyes glaring glassily, and he was thrashing violently against the Warrior's restraining bulk. "Brother, what is wrong with you? Are you agued?"

Loki spat out a word from behind his teeth, pale lips flecked with foam. The word took physical form, became a coiling, amorphous beast with fangs bared, which lunged straight for Volstagg's eyes.

Feeling as if he'd just been thrown bodily into the waterfall plunge pool in midwinter, Thor grabbed for Loki's shoulders as Volstagg reared back in alarm. His brother's fevered strength was alarming. Loki had never been a serious match for Thor physically: countless wrestling, sparring and lifting matches had established this as fact long ago. But he was quick, and now his thin body was like forged steel wire, flexing and twisting to be free of Thor's hands. And he was _growling_: wordless and feral noises, like a wild beast in a trap. It was incomprehensible. Where was his brother's clever wit, where were his careful words?

"Thor, knock the sense from him, quickly, before he gets loose!" The third of the Warriors, with Lady Sif at his side, had just appeared in the doorway, breathing hard from running.

"I will not hurt my brother, Fandral, he is clearly sickening with some foul disease!" Thor wrestled Loki back to the floor.

"Thor," said Sif, as softly as she could manage and still be heard over the frenzied sounds of Loki trying to free himself. "You know that isn't true."

Thor's arm abruptly throbbed pain at him as Loki bit into his wrist like a starving wolf, and the numb, shocky feeling of being plunged without warning into freezing water intensified. Sadness gripped him.

"Forgive me, brother," he murmured. "I swear I will do everything in my power to help you."

He drew back his other fist, and punched Loki hard between the eyes. As the god of mischief collapsed back to the ground, his consciousness fled, Thor met Sif's accusing look.

_You _**know**_ that isn't true._

"He is my responsibility," he murmured, and scooped the lolling, lanky body up in his arms. "Fandral, go to my father. I must take care of Loki now."


	2. Chapter 2

"_Loki, this is madness!"_

"_Is it? IS IT?"_

* * *

><p>It wasn't that Thor had missed the signs, not exactly.<p>

He and Sif sat on the balustrade just outside Loki's bedchamber and held quiet council as they waited for Fandral's return. Loki was sequestered, still unconscious, inside: Thor, feeling very unhappy about it, had put two guards outside the door. But it was the right thing to do - if Loki were truly not in his right mind -

That thought hurt. Thor rubbed the still-fresh bite on his wrist, and looked down at the raw, even semicircle marks of Loki's teeth. They looked wrong there. He supposed that if he thought about it, for weeks, Loki's normal quietly sardonic demeanour had been…wrong also. He said as much to Sif.

"Months," corrected Sif. "Months, not weeks. He's been failing for a while, Thor, we've all seen it, and none of us wanted to believe it."

The thunder god gave her a disbelieving look. "You?" he said. "You've little love for my brother, my lady. You've made that quite clear."

"You're right," said Sif, turning her head away. "You're right. Loki is strange and cunning and not like us. Sometimes I have found his games malicious. But even I was worried for him. I told you, did I not? When he conjured those butterflies?"

Thor tried to recall, and the expression on his face made Sif sigh.

"I _did_ tell you," she repeated. "And you said that it was just one of Loki's little obsessions, his little fancies. You refused to talk to him about it, or tell your father, and you forbade me to speak to your mother. Even when the rose arbour went up in flames."

He nodded, remembering he'd actually laughed at the time. Typical Loki, always doing his unexpected and surprising things. No-one had really got hurt, and the carnivorous butterflies had been quite pretty, even when they'd died all at once and fallen around the laughing Loki like flakes of ash. "You did tell me."

She'd said: _look at his face, Thor, look in his eyes, he__'__s laughing but his eyes aren__'__t, and those butterflies have bitten him but he doesn__'__t seem to care, Thor -_

_He's wounded, Thor, your brother's bleeding. _

But really, it _wasn__'__t _as if he'd missed the signs, was it? When Loki had locked himself in his rooms for a few days -

"It was a fortnight," said Sif.

- for a few days, and no-one had been able to convince him to come out, and when he had finally emerged he looked as if he'd lost half his already meagre bodyweight and was as pale as death. And he wouldn't talk about why. Just smiled an odd little smile, thumped Thor once on the shoulder and then managed to talk Volstagg into eating some delicious bilberries that somehow made the big man's tongue swell up so that he couldn't swallow anything for almost a day. And that was all perfectly normal and acceptable and very, well, very _Loki_ and no-one said anything further about it. Thor remembered it now as a passing concern. Loki just hadn't been around for a few days. Nothing really to worry about, and now he was back and making his harmless little pranks happen again. No problem. It wasn't as if he'd really _missed_ anything -

There was an abrupt shout, slightly muffled, from within Loki's bedroom.

Evidently the younger god was awake. Thor shot to his feet, the guilt settling on him like a cloud, and rounded briefly on Sif as a result.

"We?" he interrogated. She stared at him, round-eyed.

"What?"

"You said_, __'__we.__'_'_We__'__ve_ all seen it,' you said. Have you been keeping things from me, you and the Warriors Three? Things about my brother?" Without letting her speak, he charged on. It wasn't all his fault, of course not. He hadn't missed anything, people had been deliberately _keeping_ things from him. "I am not a child, to be treated this way! I'm going in there. He needs me."

"But your father -"

"Isn't here!" Thor was already at the door, dismissing the guards with a flourish of his fist. They moved back with almost impertinent eagerness, he thought. As if they didn't want to catch madness from his poor brother. _Ignorant fools. They all are._

He was almost boiling with rage on Loki's behalf by the time he reached his brother's bedside, and his expression was virulent. Thor had always worn his heart on his sleeve, as his mother had colourfully put it, and at this moment his anger was written into every pore.

Loki saw that anger in an instant and threw himself off the bed with a sharp cry. He was gone across the room in a tangle of green sheets, tripping himself in an uncharacteristically ungainly fashion, and ending up in an untidy sprawl on the floor.

"Brother!" Thor said, startled almost as much by Loki's lack of co-ordination as his flight from the bed. He hastened towards the fallen man, and was rebuffed only by a shower of acidic sparks hurled from behind the sheets.

"Stay back!" Loki's voice was several registers higher than usual, and quavering in a mixture of hoarseness and fright. His pallid forehead and the bridge of his sharp nose were already blackening with bruises from Thor's earlier blow. "Back!"

"I will not harm you, Loki - it is I, your brother."

"You're angry with me. Why are you always angry?" Loki's voice was quiet, almost plaintive, but the acid attacks never ceased in their ferocity. Thor held up his arm to protect his eyes, and continued to move forward. He could hear Loki scrabbling away from him and risked a glimpse. Sorcerous fire exploded in his face, dazzling him. He smelt the reek of singed hair and realised that his beard was crisped at the ends. "Loki, this _must _stop. What is wrong? What are you frightened of?"

A high, nervous laugh rang out. Thor blinked away the remains of the light that had temporarily blinded him, and found Loki now huddled in the corner, his long legs drawn up to his chin, his eyes looking huge in his thin face. His teeth flashed again in a giggle that even to Thor sounded dangerously unstable. "Me? I'm not frightened. You're the one that's frightened. Aren't you?"

"You're not making any sense." Thor couldn't keep the impatience out of his voice, despite his concern. "Please, Loki. Let me help you. Tell me what has happened - what has made you this way -"

He threw himself flat as Loki abruptly slung a candlestick at him. The echoes of the metal as it bounced off the marble behind him seemed to intensify, jarr and jangle inside his head, confusing and distracting. More sorcery, used against his own kin. _Oh, my brother, you can't know what you're doing. _

"You're trying to confuse me," snapped Loki's voice, and he was moving again, keeping out of reach. "I know what's going on. I heard the ravens whispering it to me. Asgard will suffer and burn, and I - I have to protect i-i-it and I - "

His voice broke. With his brother's tones still laced with magic, Thor could almost feel the words like physical things, shattering like glass all around him. Shards of Loki's sanity, delicate like crystal, and now all scattered. If there had been any doubt in Thor's mind that his brother's mind had been somehow ripped loose and was wandering between realms, it was wholly melted away in the face of this.

Thor, weary and sad, stood up and walked forward. Loki was crumpled against the side of the bed, his eyes lost in some imagined horror that he was unable to prevent. Curled there at Thor's feet, he looked suddenly very small, very vulnerable.

"I have to," he whispered. "I have to. Even if you all have to die. I have to. Do you hear me? I'll kill you all. One by one, all at once, I'll do it."

"Do not speak like this…"

"One by one," Loki repeated, dogmatic. "Or all together. I can't let it happen."

"Brother, _please_."

"To save Asgard," said Loki, quite clearly for once, "I would declare that you are not my brother. This ends now."

Their eyes met. Mad green warred with melancholy blue.

"Decide," said Loki, coldly. And then the door of his chambers slammed open for the second time.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mother," said Thor, in almost-annoyance.

"Mother," cried Loki, in what was seemingly honest relief.

The normally serene figure of Frigga appeared, for once, flustered as she swept across the space between the door and the bed. Her eyes were fixed on her youngest ward, who was huddled at the feet of her towering eldest in a position of utter defeat and submission. She bent to Loki in a graceful sweep of white silk, extending both hands to grasp his cold, sweating face tenderly before Thor could get his warning out in full. "Be careful, he may hurt you -"

Frigga's glare could have cut through glass.

"Hurt? I have raised this boy as I have raised you both. He's my _son_, he won't hurt me." She ran delicate fingers over the ugly bruises on Loki's face, wincing almost in unison with him. "Although it seems you have no such compunction against hurting members of your family!"

She gathered the huddled figure of the god of mischief into her arms and held onto him, head raised defiantly and still staring at Thor. Thor almost fidgeted. Maternal she-wolves had nothing on Frigga, wife of Odin, when she was defending her cause, and at this precise moment her cause was Loki. "Out," she snapped, over Loki's bowed head. Thor was stung by her tone.

"I insist that I stay and help."

"You've done quite enough helping and you can help me best now by leaving. Out."

Thor turned angrily and took two steps before turning back and retorting: "I sent for Father. Where is he?"

"Not here, and that you should at least be grateful for!"

The doors slammed shut behind Thor. He was left with his final glimpse of Loki turning to look up at Frigga, his expression stricken, his lips already moving as he whispered to her.

* * *

><p>The Warriors were nowhere to be found. The balustrade was empty of Sif: Thor felt abruptly abandoned. He stayed outside Loki's bedroom for a while, pacing, his ears alert for any sound of combat or cry from his mother that would indicate she was in danger. None came. It was a bright day, and a few butterflies skittered past the balcony, some alighting on the sun-warmed stone. They were the same bright green as Loki's conjured carnivorous strain, with identical markings. One blundered into a spider's web and thrashed frenetically as Thor watched it. He glimpsed the legs of the emerging spider probing delicately at the strands of its web, getting a feel for the direction and strength of its prey before it slipped out into the open and hurried toward the netted, twitching butterfly.<p>

Such was nature. Thor had never minded the cruelty of dumb beasts. Predator and prey knew their rightful, natural balance. He looked past the web and its tiny unfolding drama to the spread of Asgard beyond, his gaze reaching out as far as the distant rainbow bridge and the speck upon it that was Heimdall.

Where _was _his father? Surely nothing could have kept him from his sons in such a situation?

Determined to find out, Thor turned and strode from Loki's tower. Behind him, unnoticed on the sill, the butterfly hanging in the web was just getting started on its meal of spider.

* * *

><p>"I see him in the north, almost at the border," said Heimdall, his flat golden eyes focussed as usual upon something far beyond Asgard and the figure of Thor standing before him.<p>

"Why has he gone?" Thor wondered aloud. "He is needed here. Heimdall, can he be called back?"

Heimdall the Guardian, he-who-brings-them-home, turned his helmeted head just slightly.

"Would you jeopardise the safety of Asgard, all for your brother?" he asked. "The Allfather responds to tales of incursion on the northern border. I myself have seen the tips of the glaciers explode without warning, and when my eyes are watching, Thor Odinson, they miss nothing."

Thor felt the anger build in his chest. It barely seemed possible. How had these misfortunes come together all at once? Odin long distant, Loki's mind broken, the Warriors injured? Truly this day was desperately unlucky.

"Heimdall," he said, eventually. "Can you see my brother?"

"Yes." To the attuned ear, Heimdall might have sounded a little surprised. Thor noticed this not at all. "The lady Frigga is just leaving him."

That at least seemed positive. Wild horses couldn't have dragged Frigga from her post had the sickness been great. Loki must be improving.

"How does he seem to you?"

Heimdall was quiet for a moment.

"Relieved," he said, at length, and turned his gaze back out to the depths of the gulf between the Nine Realms without another word.

* * *

><p>He looked very young when he was asleep.<p>

"Loki," said Thor, as gently as he could manage.

There had been no guards on the door when he had returned, and Loki's rooms had felt oddly empty. Thor had walked unchallenged into Loki's bedroom and found him curled up on his bed, eyes closed, breathing evenly.

"Loki," he said, again, and because he was Thor, followed the word up with a small shove of his brother's elbow. Loki woke with a start and a gulp of indrawn breath, sitting up immediately. For a moment, that mix of fright and loss of sense flickered in those green eyes, then Loki exhaled, long and low.

"You're here," he said, and to Thor's huge relief he sounded completely sane, if a little more than anxious. "Thor. I couldn't do it any more. I don't care what Father says."

That was unexpected. Thor's brow furrowed in honest incomprehension. Was this a different phase of the madness, a more lucid one, undoubtedly, but still…? He decided to try and turn the conversation.

"How are you faring?" he asked, and Loki shook his head swiftly, as if trying to displace circling flies. Conversational gambit _not_ accepted.

"Promise me," he blurted, suddenly, his words seeming to run over themselves with their desperation to be out in the open. Thor could almost feel those words scuttling up his arm and clinging close by his ears, hissing urgently. He tried not to think about it too much. Loki's voice could sometimes be disturbingly physical. "Promise me you won't tell Father I told you. You have to swear it."

"Told me what? You haven't told me anything yet."

"And I won't until you swear." Loki's face was set, his eyes intent. Thor sought those eyes for hints of the previous derangement, and even flicked a look down to Loki's hands, laid flat on the bed. No little droplets of spitting fiery death laced his brother's long fingers. It seemed they might continue their conversation without interruption, at least for the time being. Loki, apparently catching his intent, actually sat on those expressive hands to counteract their potential as weaponry. His expression was eloquent. A lazily swooping butterfly within the window cast flickering daylight shadows across the two of them with its wings.

Thor gave it up, only a little less than graciously. He was so overwhelmingly glad that Loki was making some small amount of sense, he could have been persuaded into doing almost anything for him.

"I swear that whatever you speak within these walls I will keep to myself," he said, making sure he kept eye contact. Loki could be a terribly suspicious, cagey creature, and if it was even vaguely possible that saying the wrong thing would result in a reprise of his previous insane violence, Thor wasn't about to risk it. He was even starting to feel badly about the bruises.

A very short time later, after listening to what Loki had to say, he felt infinitely worse.


	4. Chapter 4

"_How strange or odd so e'er I bear myself -_

_As I perchance hereafter shall think meet_

_To put an antic disposition on. "_

_-Hamlet_

* * *

><p>"You were right about Father," said Loki, drawing his long legs up gracefully into the lotus position on the bed, freeing his hands so he could use them to illustrate his words while he talked. "Everything you said. I didn't want to believe it, but now I do. Thankyou for showing me what he's truly like, Thor. I'm incredibly grateful. I only wish it hadn't had to be in these circumstances."<p>

Thor frowned, not entirely confident he could recall exactly what he was so right about. Certainly he had often boasted to his closest compatriots, Loki amongst them, that his judgement outpaced Odin's in many situations. That Odin was always thinking too much, trying to be too many steps ahead, when what was really required was a little more hammer -

"He's not to be trusted, I know that now," said Loki, searching Thor's face with wide, mournful eyes. "If he's willing to force my hand like this, against my own brother…"

- and a little less diplomacy. _Wait, what?_

"What has he done, Loki?"

Loki bit his lip with his white, even teeth. Everything about his posture suddenly screamed reluctance. Thor's protectiveness for his brother made his voice gentle. "I have sworn. Tell me."

Incredibly, Loki smiled: a warm smile, transforming his habitual demeanour into something charming. His next words practically cosied up to Thor, feeling like a hug, a grasp of the forearm, a trusting leaning of the weak onto the strong.

"I can trust only you, brother." The smile faded. "Believe me when I say that the Allfather is testing you. He has been testing us both since we were boys, but you in particular. He fears what we may do if we outstretch him, and so he tests us. He wants to see what we will do, if the situation demands it.

He wanted to see what _you _would do, my brother. If I became a threat to Asgard."

For a long moment there was silence in the room. Loki looked away: he seemed exhausted by the mere revelation. Thor was reeling. He sat down on the bed heavily. The air felt abruptly too hot.

"How long -"

"Almost three months," said Loki. "He knows my strength lies in my ability to deceive, and to do it well." A quick glance of those bright green eyes at Thor's distraught face, then his words were running fast and free once again. "If I were to be convincingly insane, it could hardly be the work of minutes. Time was needed. Preparation and planning."

"But you starved yourself…" Thor's mind flashed him a picture of the destruction in the library. "And your books!"

Loki didn't look at him.

"Loki, you _loved_ those books."

"You are family," said Loki, softly. "I had to be convincing. You were worth a few books. And what are books, after all? Words trapped on paper. Words are better off if they are free to run around." He shifted position, clasped his knees with his hands. "Those books had taught me everything they knew, and yes, I loved them, but what is love? Love can be exploited. If you love something, you can be harmed by it. Those who are your enemies can threaten it and destroy you. Or it can destroy you because you were unwilling to act. That is what Odin wanted to see. He wanted to see if you were ready to be the king he wants you to be. The king who could show no mercy, even to members of his own family."

Thor was speechless with a mixture of growing rage and cold shock. Loki's room was very quiet, only the vague shuffling of dusty wings as a dozen butterflies alighted on the ceiling and pillars above them. It felt oppressive, suddenly, like the air before a storm, and Thor the thunderer felt obscurely trapped.

"Because that's the sort of king _he_ is," Loki murmured into the silence, still watching him very closely.

Thor still couldn't find the words. His anger quickly burnt away the shock, burnt away the numbness, came roaring in like a lion. "This cannot stand!" he snarled, pushing himself to his feet. "I will go to him and -"

"Then he will kill me."

Loki's voice was very soft: resigned. "And you will be no closer to being king. I'm sorry, Thor. I only wanted to help you succeed. I shouldn't have told you. When Odin punishes me - banishment, I imagine, or death - I won't betray you."

Had Loki been vehement, frightened of his fate, Thor perhaps could have pushed aside his sworn word not to speak of this to anyone. But the sheer resigned dejection of his brother was more affecting than any other protestation Loki could have made. The god of mischief's words now fell upon Thor like early autumn rain, full of loss, full of sadness. Thor found himself once again thinking of those ruined books, and the ugly bruises on Loki's face.

"No. _I_ am sorry."

He sat down again on the bed, heavily, at Loki's side.

"I have sworn, and I will protect you from our father's wrath. He won't find out that you have told me."

He heard rather than saw Loki's shoulders drop in relief.

"I only wish for you to succeed, brother," Loki repeated, still quietly. "I couldn't offer you my strength, as we both know you have no need of it. But I _am_ clever. I knew I could do this one thing to help you."

Thor didn't have the words to describe how heartened Loki's support made him. He smiled. Even through the rage of being played for a fool by Odin, he smiled at his clever brother, who was going to help him become king. Let the one-eyed old idiot have his games and his intrigues. Thor had Loki.

"Now," said Loki, swinging his legs off the bed and standing in one smooth, graceful motion, "We don't have much time. It's sheer luck that Odin was called away."

"Loki?"

The god of mischief turned, straight into Thor's grateful face and a thankful cuff on the upper arm.

"I'm very glad. That you have not truly lost your mind."

Loki laughed, and the butterflies gathering above them fluttered uneasily at the sound.

"My mind is as precious to me as your hammer is to you, brother. I'm hardly likely to lose it."


	5. Chapter 5

The Warriors Three, with Sif circling them like an angry wolf, had retreated to the empty feasting hall upon the arrival of Frigga. They were brave, all of them, certainly: stalwart, of that no doubt. But even they would not have lightly got into the middle of a discussion with the wife of Odin about the brand-new lunacy of her youngest son.

That was family business, after all, not for them to interfere.

Volstagg was prodding ruefully at a set of bruises along his ribs and lower stomach.

"No blood drawn, eh, old fellow?"

Fandral, the only one of the Three to have escaped Loki's madness unscathed, clapped his friend on the shoulder. Volstagg rumbled in pain.

"He has kicked at me like Sleipnir with the colic, and I ache abominably."

"Didn't know he had it in him," said Fandral, knowing he was being unfair. Loki, _Prince _Loki of Asgard, master of magic, was hardly what anyone would term a pushover. "How do you fare, Hogun?"

Hogun the Grim looked even more morose than usual. The little burn marks from Loki's flash-bang sorcery stood out starkly on his face, and he was sat running a piece of goatskin up the length of his smallest knife blade in silence. Fandral knew better than to push him. At least he was still alive, and conscious now. They'd had to carry him out of the doorway of Loki's chambers, an indignity which Fandral was pretty sure wasn't going to be forgotten in a hurry. The Warriors liked any battle they could walk away from, even if it was a defeat.

"Glad you're feeling better," Fandral offered, in the face of Hogun's mute annoyance, and wandered away in the direction of Sif in the hope of better conversation. Fandral was a talker: he loved a chance to display wit and share gossip, and today's events were just begging to be talked about.

It had been he, after all, who had been the first to notice all was not well with the god of mischief that day.

Loki had popped out of his chambers like a rabbit out of a burrow, just as Fandral and Hogun had been passing. They hadn't even seen him open the doors.

"By the Tree, Loki," Fandral had exclaimed. "Don't do that. You quite startled me."

Loki had looked at him for a moment, most oddly: then broken into a high, hysterical fit of giggles that seemed to echo and chatter around the entire area. The sound was eerie and unsettling and Fandral's teeth had ached just listening to it. Even imperturbable Hogun had frowned and rubbed at his jaw.

What Loki had said next was burnt into Fandral's memory as if branded there: that, and the cold look in those green eyes that had promised blood and murder and all kinds of havoc. He had been unimpressed with Loki in the past, unsure of any sense of humour that thought snakes made out of wine were funny. This was the first time he could recall ever being genuinely scared of him.

"You," said Loki, baring his teeth in more of a snarl than a grin, "cannot be allowed to destroy what my family has worked so hard to build. You are unworthy of my brother's love and trust."

And Fandral, who loved so much to boast of his quick wit, could only say find the single word "What?" in response to that.

And then the world seemed to explode in flame.

It had been a sorcerer's circle, Hogun had allowed afterward, a perfect wall of fire sprung up around them both, trapping them. Loki had advanced, the fire playing gleefully and harmlessly over his skin and clothes, licking at his hands like a fawning puppy, while it equally snapped and spat at the two Warriors.

Loki wasn't making any sense, Fandral remembered: he was plainly raving, all kinds of things about Thor and how he was the sole protector of truth, his voice caught half-way between frenzied laughter and despairing tears. His pale lips were parted and foam-flecked, rendering his sharp face rabid, and his eyes…

His eyes. Hogun, always quicker to react than speak, had shouted to Fandral to get help, even at that moment turning into the breach to meet Loki's attack as the mad god drew back his hands to fling living flame -

Fandral shook off the unpleasantness of that memory and leant against the column next to Sif, who had finally stopped pacing in what looked like a prize sulk.

"Quite a day," he murmured. Sif pursed her lips. "Oh, come on. There is little enough we can do, we may at least talk about it."

"The only useful talking would have been if we had talked to Thor earlier."

"And told him what?" Fandral placed a hand on his hip and raised his voice in a girlish imitation. "'Oh, _Thor. _Don't you think your brother's been acting a little peculiar lately? Perhaps he should be chained in the stables with the dogs in case he bites someone?' Oh, yes. That would have been accepted immediately. You know how close the two of them are."

"That's exactly why we should have spoken out earlier. What will the Allfather do with a mad Asgardian? What _can _he do? Really, if Loki could have been saved, it would have to have been earlier."

Fandral shook his head. "You think Loki will be banished?"

"He may be too dangerous even for that."

"Imprisoned, then -"

They broke off as Hogun looked up from his blade. Footsteps were approaching, two sets of boots. And voices, echoing in discussion.

"Thor," said Sif, quietly.

"Chin up, then," said Fandral, looking suitably sobered. Their comrade-in-arms and future king was hardly likely to be in the best of tempers.

But when Thor entered the room, he was smiling - and at his side, slender and graceful and composed, Loki.

"What is this?" Volstagg cried, standing from his bench.

"You go on," said Loki to Thor, in an undertone, inaudible to the others. "I will take our friends into our confidence, as we discussed." When Thor hesitated, Loki gave him a long look and an encouraging smile. "Go. We don't have long before Odin returns."

He turned to the approaching Volstagg, his long fingers spread, as Thor retreated through the doors behind him.

"My brave friends," he said, his pleasant smile fading to solemnity.

"Are we going to have to sit on you again?" Volstagg rumbled, looming over Loki. Loki's brows arched, eyes wide.

"My dear Volstagg, I really hope not. Though your actions were quite laudable, given the circumstances."

"And exactly what circumstances were those? Do tell us." Sif stalked toward him, as if quite prepared to knock him down should any minor signs of lunacy be apparent. Loki backed away immediately, hands held up in appeasement. Sif wasn't to be put off, however, and continued to advance until Loki's shoulders hit cold marble and she had him backed into a corner. "Because I was under the impression that your senses had quite deserted you. Fandral was all for tying you up in the stables with the dogs."

"You are as flattering to me as you are beautiful," said Loki, casting his eyes down, "but I cannot in all conscience keep the truth from you any longer."

Even Hogun put down his blade and paid attention at this point. Fandral crossed his arms, frowning. Across the empty expanse of the hall, two pinpoints of green danced and flickered in the air - butterflies, so tiny in this huge room as to be almost unnoticed.

"Promise me," said Loki earnestly, his words trying to take refuge behind each stalwart Warrior, the word "promise" in particular clinging close to each listener's chest and begging for sanctuary. "Promise me. I can't do this to you anymore, my friends, no matter what Thor says."

"_Thor_?" spluttered Fandral, almost shocked out of volubility for the second time that day. Loki bit his lip, reluctance palpable around him.

"You must swear," he said, after a moment drinking in their all-attentive silence, "not to tell him that I have told you…"


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't believe it."

"I do."

"So do I."

The three others turned and looked at Hogun, Sif in particular staring and shocked. Hogun the Grim met their eyes without blinking or saying another word.

"Well, I'm convinced," said Fandral, throwing up his hands. "Loki can make Hogun speak out on his behalf, he can probably charm the birds down from the trees by whistling."

"Fandral, calm down, you're angry."

"Of course I'm angry! This is exactly the sort of situation I want to avoid - politics. I'm a lover and a fighter, not a diplomat." There was a brief and heartfelt "Hear hear!" from Volstagg.

"You're Thor's friend," Sif pointed out, "and Thor is going to be king one day. Perhaps that day will be very soon. It's unavoidable that things are going to change between us."

Fandral sniffed, rubbed his moustache and looked downward.

"You just didn't think that day was going to be now, did you?"

At the shake of his head, Sif pressed on. "A king needs loyalty and steadfastness above all. I understand why Thor would be testing us. The only thing that truly surprises me is that he had the forethought to attempt something like this."

"The thing that truly surprises _me_ is that Loki would be willing to put himself in such danger to achieve this test of Thor's." Fandral was heartened by an affirmative growl from Hogun, supporting him. "We could have killed him, you know. If we'd all four of us been applying ourselves together."

Discomfited by their sudden silence, he added: "Couldn't we?"

No-one had an answer to that.

"Likewise," said Hogun, unexpectedly, and everybody looked at him. "Had Loki been truly mad, he could have killed _us_. I am only slightly burnt. "

"And I only slightly bruised," put in Volstagg, and Hogun nodded.

"Evidence, for those who wish it, that Loki is telling the truth and that his madness was merely a sham, part of Thor's scheme. As Loki himself said, Thor knows very well that his brother's usefulness lies in his ability to deceive and to do it well."

Fandral paced, back and forth, deeply uncomfortable. "Well, he was certainly convincing! I could have gone to Odin. As soon as I saw what I saw outside Loki's rooms…I could very easily have gone straight to Odin, and then Thor would have never trusted me again."

"But you didn't. You sent word to Thor and only to Thor, leaving the decision in his hands." Sif laid a hand on his shoulder. "And we have sworn to Loki that we will not speak of this again to anyone. The danger is past: Loki is not truly mad, and Thor will be king with us his tried - " She paused and looked down briefly. " - and trusted companions."

Fandral let out a long breath and gave Sif a searching look. "My lady, you would have been my last choice for a supporter of Loki."

"And so I should still be," said Sif, calmly. "Loki can be immature and feckless, and I have even wondered if he were a little jealous of his brother. But I know Thor's concerns about the Allfather's opinion of his ability to be a good king. He often speaks of them. What else would we do, my friends? Confront Thor? It would gain us nothing and probably lose us everything, because evidently his aim is to test the extent of our loyalty to him as our future king. Go to Odin? It would ruin us all, Thor included. And Loki too, though I bear him less love than his brother, I would not see him disgraced when he was willing to risk so much."

Fandral heaved a heavy sigh and sat down on a table, brushing a few dead butterflies away with a careless hand. Iridescent green dust from their wings left smoky trails across his fingers.

"Thor shouldn't have felt he needed to test us," he said. "It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. Never mind him feeling he can't trust us, I'm starting to feel I can't trust _him _entirely…"

"Trust him at least to do what is best for Asgard, and best for all of us," said Sif. "That's what a king does, after all."

Only Hogun, who said less than the others and watched a good deal more, would have noticed that Sif didn't look as convinced of Thor's good judgement as she might claim.

* * *

><p>For his own part, Thor was quite confident that once Loki had explained the situation to the Warriors, his friends would be utterly supportive of any action he would later take. Loki was good at explaining things, after all, everybody said so. He strode along the corridors of his father's domain, confident now and mostly at ease.<p>

Still, he was a little unsure if he could trust the Warriors entirely. Good friends would have mentioned more to him about his brother's aberrant behaviour, not kept it from him and whispered about it amongst themselves like old women. They'd evidently fallen for Loki's playacting in the greatest way imaginable.

How ridiculous to think that _he _could ever have really believed Loki had run mad. Loki was far too clever to lose his wits. _That's what you get, _Thor thought, without any fear of irony, _for listening to second-hand tales. _

He nodded aside the guards stationed outside the armoury and entered, boots slamming carelessly on stone, head up. Every inch a king. This was going to work, and Odin was going to be in no doubt that his son was everything he could ever want in a king. Everything that Asgard needed and deserved.

It never even occurred to him to wonder precisely what it was Loki might have said to their mother.

* * *

><p>It is often said, perhaps in jest, perhaps not, that behind every powerful man is an intelligent woman. Our feudal history gives us the phrase "power behind the throne." Most of the time, such phrases do not survive unless there is at least a core of truth in them.<p>

Frigga was currently in the main library, a couple of guards and a servant attending her as she picked out a selection of books, her aim being to at least comfort Loki a little by offering him a few tomes for his now empty shelves.

She wished she knew more about his tastes in literature. She was becoming uncomfortably aware that the little boy she'd raised was in some areas a stranger to her. What did he like to read? Surely any mother should know that. She ran a hand over the leather spines of a set of books on botany. Young men probably weren't very interested in flowers. She moved on to a set of history books, detailing the Jotun wars. Thor had loved these.

The very thought of Thor at present made her purse her lips, her stomach knotting. How she loved that boy, but how she hated his behaviour sometimes.

Seeing him there earlier in Loki's room, looming over the younger man like a bear over a wounded wolf-pup, looking full of remorse at being caught in the act of bullying his brother. For the hundredth time, probably. Even those friends of his, the Warriors, weren't above needling Loki for not being so much of a physical force in battle. Loki gone crazy, indeed! That was a new one. Thanks be to everything and all that Odin hadn't been at home when Fandral had delivered his ridiculous message. And she'd expected more of Sif, getting herself involved in this stupid boys' game.

Frigga, a woman in a man's world, found herself siding with Loki on this one. Where physical strength may not match up, one may always use other weapons. Her boy was _clever_. What did they know? Brains can win a battle even more efficiently than brawn.

"Promise me," Loki had whispered, clinging to her arm as Thor retreated angrily from his chambers. "Promise me you won't tell Father about this. He wants me to be strong. I can't let him see Thor able to cow me. It would destroy me."

"I won't speak a word of this to Odin. Don't worry. But Loki, you must let me at least talk to your brother. He's torn up all your books, and look at your _face_ -"

Loki's eyes had been very solemn, then, reminding her of when he had been much younger and had quietly, seriously owned up to breaking one of her mirrors while young Thor shuffled and scowled in the background. She hadn't believed it was entirely Loki's fault, not even then.

"He didn't touch the books, Mother."

"A likely story. I suppose he didn't black your eye, either."

Loki had hung his head.

"Exactly. You have to stop defending him." Frigga had allowed herself a moment's more luxury of holding Loki close. He was generally like a cat for closeness, only permitting it on his own terms or not at all. But there on the floor of his rooms, he'd huddled into her body for comfort, and she realised how much she'd missed him like this. She pressed him to her chest, once, then let him pull back and looked at him carefully. That bruise really was splendid in its awfulness: blackening down into his eye socket already. A faint iridescence, as of green powder, clung to the collar of his tunic.

"I'm not defending him," said Loki, rubbing his good eye absently. "But if you talk to him it will make things a hundred times worse. I have to do this by myself, Mother. I have to let him know I don't rely on anyone else for protection against his ridiculous claims, or his fists. I can do it. I can impress him. I just need time."

His earnest hopefulness was clear and unfeigned. Frigga had stared at her unusual son as he stood straight, brushed down his clothes.

"You really love your brother, don't you?" she murmured. Loki smiled, infectiously, and his next words had flooded her ears like light and laughter.

"Oh yes," he had said. "I really want to do what's best for him."


	7. Chapter 7

"_It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world."_

* * *

><p>There are reasons why legends are legendary.<p>

One does not, for example, become a legend for being unremarkably ordinary. Being extraordinarily ordinary, though: that is in itself perhaps strange enough to be the basis for a legend.

Now Odin Allfather was one of the least ordinary men in Asgard, and he was a legend. He was the king, which naturally gave him an advantage, for even a bad king may become a legend. But on top of this, he possessed a fantastical steed and a powerful, some said magical, weapon. Ravens flocked to tell him their secrets and he called their chiefs his friends.

And he was missing an eye. That hidden, ruined socket where Fate had left her brand on him was as clear as the written word. Here was a man whose thread of life was bright, vibrant, colouring every part of the weave and changing the pattern simply by being there. Let the worlds beware if they misbehaved, or rejoice if they did not. Here was their guardian.

Odin sat horseback in the freezing air and looked out over a frosty fen above which a newly risen sea of evening mist hung in the air mere inches above the reeds. Sleipnir stood very still, with none of the usual champing, scraping or shifting of his weight common to large horses who have been standing out in the cold longer than they feel is necessary. Sleipnir was a more than usually intelligent animal who knew his rider's moods very well, and Odin was currently experiencing one of his least favourite emotions.

He was confused.

Here was the problem: at the feet of the glaciers there had been little movement for a hundred years, and yet for some reason, earlier that day, the glacial tips had suddenly exploded in showers of ice visible for miles - and certainly visible to Heimdall, whose loyal duty it was to report everything of note that came into the purview of his eyes.

Odin's immediate thought had been to send Baldur or others of his closest company out to investigate, but then he'd caught a single glimpse of Loki hurrying past in a corridor in the dawn light and had changed his mind.

Glaciers. Ice. Frost Giants. Laufey.

Loki.

_I__'__m going myself._

Knowing what he did about his youngest son, Odin was not inclined to ignore any possible hint that Laufey had discovered the truth about what had happened all those bloody years ago in Jotunheim and had come to exact vengeance or worse, to try and steal Loki back. The situation was far too precarious to be left to chance, and Odin hadn't been raising Loki as his own for nothing, after all.

Certainly not.

Odin, oldest of all, strongest and wisest, was playing the long game, and he always played to win. How old was Loki, now? Twenty-five? Thirty? Years meant little to the long-lived of Asgard, after all. Odin occasionally even wondered at his own patience. But despite his skills in war - and indeed perhaps because of his extensive experience of it - Odin valued peace above all things. It was so rare, and rare things were always valuable, whether they were to one's personal taste or not. If Loki could be the seal on a lasting peace with the Jotun, rather than the uneasy truce that existed at present -

_In_valuable. Loki wasn't just valuable, he was invaluable.

He was also turning out to be rather more to handle than Odin had expected, and needed watching. The old, warrior Odin was uneasy about Loki's power, whereas Odin the father was achingly proud of his adopted child's abilities. No Asgardian could match Loki in illusion and magic, and few throughout history could claim wits as quick as Loki's. The boy could out-think an outbreak of wildfire.

He made Odin feel conflicted, another of his least favourite emotions. He loved the boy, how could he not? He'd raised him, taught him, disciplined him. But it hadn't started out with love. When Thor had been born, there had immediately been love, and everything else had followed. When he had picked the screaming baby out of its icy cradle and the clotting, cloying spilt blood of its kin, there had been only responsibility.

_I am responsible for Loki and I always will be. His life is mine, because I saved it when I could have let him die. His life is mine and I shall mould it as I will. _

It did not occur to Odin at this point that this tiny but crucial difference in his fatherly attitude might have been as easy to perceive to a growing, clever boy as is the full moon in a clear night sky. With a click of his tongue and a pull on the reins, he turned Sleipnir away from the fens and the horse ambled back obediently toward the other curious thing about this whole situation, multiple hooves ringing on the frozen ground.

The crumbled piles of shattered ice at the base of the glacier were littered with broken butterflies. Once they might have been green: now in the melting devastation their ragged wings were almost black with water. Odin stared at them for a long time, but they gave him nothing. Butterflies were just butterflies after all: they hung around Asgard in their droves during the right seasons. Possibly this was a chance migration from the south, and nothing to do with the explosions at all.

'Possibly' wasn't a word that generally cut any ice with Odin. Still, there was clearly nothing further occurring here, with the fenlands still and wreathed in mist and no sound for miles save the breath of his horse and the accompanying hooves of the two mounted royal guards. The glaciers were just ordinary glaciers, not the rolling, living ice of an approaching Fimbulwinter. There were no Jotun here. Again, Odin was glad he had come by himself, in such a low-key manner. Thor would have undoubtedly over-reacted to any mention of Frost Giants: Odin was inclined to wonder if his eldest had been too eager to hear the war histories told to him as bedtime stories. Loki, in contrast, had just read the books to himself, quietly and without any sign of over-reaction.

"Heimdall. I'm coming home," he said to empty air, his breath misting in the chill, and knew that across the miles the watchman's golden eyes would acknowledge this fact. There would be time enough to give this further thought on the ride back.

* * *

><p>In the window seat of his own chambers, Loki sat alone and looked out at the sunset, his expression unreadable. The brilliant light turned his eyes to greenish flame and bathed his pallid skin in gold. He looked calm, patient in the way that a snake is patient before it strikes, hanging like a captured image in mid-air, not moving, never blinking. He was looking towards the northlands, and the fens.<p>

Odin would soon be home.

There are reasons why legends are legendary, and one of those reasons is that they will often do the unexpected in situations that can seemingly only have one expected resolution, and by doing so change the whole nature of the game. One may suddenly turn oneself into a salmon, disguise oneself as a woman, or wrestle Jormungandr itself for a bet.

Loki exhaled, just once, in a single note of laughter that was an echo of the sound that had given Fandral so much cause for concern.

To legends, as to liars, there are _always_ options.

* * *

><p><em><strong>[Author's Note: <strong>_

_**Just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to all those reviewers who are either anonymous or who don't have private messaging enabled and thus I can't reply to their kind words individually. That would be: Imperial Dragon, Mo, Korilian, Flaeva, Oya, Jon. Thankyou each and every one so very much and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. **_

_**And in a further moment of shameless self-promotion: if anyone finds themselves particularly fond of the description of Loki in his window seat at the end of this chapter, you can find 1000 words dedicated purely to describing the fellow in **_**Beautiful Liar**_**, a one-shot I wrote for a bet.]**_


	8. Chapter 8

"_These are the golden rules when playing chess for profit: make sure that all your pieces are on the board, in their correct positions at all times, and that your opponent has no idea what you__'__re planning.__"_

* * *

><p>It was not in Thor's nature to be patient.<p>

He found himself continually checking the hallways, waiting for some sign, however small, that his father was back in residence. He paced.

"Are you trying to convince Father that you're the one run mad, not me?"

Loki, in stark contrast, was maddeningly calm. He was as utterly composed as he had earlier been manic, and his face had that serene blankness often seen on ancient religious icons. He sat on the carved stone steps and watched Thor stride back and forth in the manner of a man watching a particularly good volley in a championship tennis match. There was all to play for, after all, and the game still to win.

"How can you simply sit there?" Thor exploded, and flung himself down next to Loki in petulant fury. Loki's eyebrows hiked, wide-eyed and guileless. Thor relented. "I am sorry, brother. I know this has been difficult for you."

"The most difficult part was having to deceive you," murmured Loki, rubbing the back of his own neck with one long hand as if the memory physically pained him. "There is little left to fear, now. I know I can trust you. You're the most loyal man in Asgard." He paused, seemingly weighing something up, then cautiously swung one thin shoulder and bumped Thor's brawny arm with his own. "And you're my brother."

He nearly overbalanced as Thor, delighted, pummelled him roughly with one large, brotherly fist to the chest in retaliation.

* * *

><p>Odin didn't like the way home felt this evening.<p>

It felt like…_not_ the calm before the storm, but perhaps the silence directly after. The halls felt strangely empty, although there were still the correct number of guards present and there had been plenty of people heading out to enjoy the evening as Sleipnir had carried his master back through the streets. Hugin and Munin circled above him as he rode, Hugin dropping to rest and preen on his shoulder as he settled his horse into the stable. The air was calm. Everything was calm. Nothing more than Odin should have expected.

Some instinct, perhaps the only instinct of a warrior, drove Odin to visit the armoury first of all. The great hammer Mjolnir was not there.

Odin was fiery in temper but he was not rash: his age and experience were too great for that. Here there was no hammer, but there was also no sign of forced entry. The guards were on duty. The people were happy. A beautiful evening, all in all, and nothing to be immediately worried about.

"You," he said, quietly, to the nearest guard. "Who has come into the armoury today?"

"I don't know, sire. I only came on duty at sunset. One moment."

The guard consulted his companion, and the shared log book: he turned back to Odin with a confident nod. "Only your son, Lord Odin. Only Prince Thor."

* * *

><p>"There is nothing to be gained by talking any further to anyone," Sif reiterated as Fandral, having seen the arrival of Odin while lying in the hayloft for personal reasons of his own, once again began to expostulate that they must <em>do <em>something. "It is settled and done. Do you love Thor any less?"

Fandral tossed his head. "No, but -"

"It is," said Sif, somewhat grimly, "settled and done."

What Fandral would have said, had he been allowed to finish, was that it is possible to love someone without entirely trusting them - a sentiment both Odin and Frigga would have shared in that moment.

The wife of Odin sat in her antechamber, allowing her hair to be dressed and her clothes prepared for dinner that evening. At her side, bound carefully with twine, was the parcel of books for Loki, and she was planning to deliver them quietly, without ceremony and without anyone else to see, before the boys came to eat. Loki could be odd about ceremonies. He seemed to dislike them equally whether they were in his honour or someone else's. People making an undue fuss over nothing was evidently one of his pet hates, and it was this more than anything else that had settled Frigga on not breathing a word about Thor's behaviour to a soul. Loki would be mortified and potentially never forgive her. She was practically convinced that the reason she had barely seen Loki for a fortnight recently was because she'd made too much of a fuss over some insect bites he'd got when out with Thor and the Warriors one day.

He was, mused Frigga as her hair fell in golden waves over her shoulders, such a sensitive sort, her youngest. Such a blessing he was also good-natured, and just a little bit of a shame that he didn't stand up to his rambunctious brother more.

The maidservant, smiling, arranged a final twist of curls.

"It's all done, my lady."

"Yes," murmured Frigga, without thinking. "It is."

* * *

><p>Thor, with Mjolnir at his waist, gave Loki a last, careful look as the bell announcing evening meal rang out again. Loki, tucking stray strands of dark hair behind his ears, was apparently oblivious to scrutiny. The bruises on his face were far less noticeable in lamplight than in the broad of day, and flickering firelight shadows played over his pale skin.<p>

"It's done," said Loki, not looking at him and straightening the cuffs of his tunic. "It's all done. Can't take anything back now."

For the first time since Thor had rejoined him, Loki seemed a little scared. His thin shoulders were up and tense: his eyes bright and fixed. Thor felt that it was his turn to reassure.

"It is indeed. A good thing - this is the first and last time I will play any of Father's political games. When I am king I will make sure everything is open, like the sky. Not shrouded like fog."

"When you are king," said Loki, his shoulders relaxing and his teeth showing in a smile, "I am sure that you will." He abruptly slapped both palms to his sides, turning in front of Thor, then gave a mocking gesture across his face to indicate the bruises.

"Well? How do I look?"

Thor laughed. "Chastened," he said.

"Perfect. Let's go to dinner."

* * *

><p>Thor wasn't sure of how his father would react when he saw Loki walking into the feasting hall at Thor's side with both his body and his wits largely intact.<p>

Perhaps he would be angry - at Thor for not having dealt more harshly with his brother, or at Loki for having failed to convince Thor that the best option was to do so.

Perhaps he would see the bruises on Loki's face and be pleasantly surprised.

Or perhaps (and this is the option that Thor secretly favoured, in the depths of his mind) the old man would be put badly off-balance by the failure of his scheme. A little worried, even. It is surely the way of parents to be outstripped by their offspring, although that old fox Odin could hardly be expected to take it gracefully.

One thing Thor was certain of: he would soon be king, and his conduct in this situation could only hasten his ascendance, thanks to Loki.

Loki, who was rather tired and hungry because he had been working very hard, was almost one hundred percent sure how Odin would react. Almost. A trickster never deals in precisely one hundred percent of anything.

And Odin, much to Thor's confusion and Loki's quiet pleasure, didn't seem to immediately react at all. His remaining eye slid over his two sons as they entered, lingered briefly on the visible haft of Mjolnir at Thor's side and the injuries to Loki's face, then darted to Frigga, who was smiling at the young men maternally. He raised his hands, then slapped the seats at his side, indicating that he wished his boys to join him on the dais. Hugin and Munin took to the smoky air from the back of his chair, darting forward to circle the sons of Odin as they advanced across the room. Hugin turned sharply in midair, beak clipping at a pair of stray green butterflies that had followed Loki in through the doors. The insects scattered in fright.

Loki took his seat without comment: Thor was unable to stop himself looking at Odin expectantly, something which Odin of course noticed.

"You're wondering what I discovered at the glaciers," he said, as soon as the food was being served and the usual clamour of conversation and platters was providing useful background noise. "The answer is nothing. A natural shattering, perhaps."

Thor couldn't help a quick glance at Loki, but Loki was tearing into some bread without looking up, apparently ravenous. No help there.

"I suppose you imagined we were under attack by Frost Giants," continued Odin, with a meaningful stare at Mjolnir's evident presence at the dinner table. "You're a little overdressed for dinner, my son."

The patronising tone made Thor's heart rage against his ribs. Now more than ever before he expected to feel Loki's eyes upon him, and to know that if he met his brother's gaze Loki would shake his head, imperceptibly, begging Thor to hold to his word and his patience (such as it was). But Loki seemed utterly unconcerned, allowing Frigga to pass him a dish of venison and accepting with a smile. What was this? At this moment of all moments Thor had expected Loki to be paying attention to this conversation. A tendril of icy doubt curled around his spine -

But then it was suddenly all so very obvious that Thor couldn't help a grin, even under the solemn, watchful eye of Odin. Doubt evaporated.

_I know I can trust you…you are my brother._

Loki was putting absolutely everything in Thor's hands alone, with not even a shadow of faithlessness. He trusted Thor completely to say the right things, the things they'd planned that afternoon, and Loki's trust was so very precious, so very dearly won and so easily lost. Thor would not let him down. _I will control my temper. This once._

"I thought of something today," he said, aloud, and Odin arched a bushy eyebrow, surprised. "You are often saying, Father, that a good king must be more than simply a warrior."

"That," said Odin, leaning back in his chair with a trencher in his hand, "is very true."

"I have had cause to test this theory," Thor continued, realising that more eyes were now turning to him, even above the hubbub of the dining hall. The Warriors and Sif, from their respective seats: several guards and Baldur, all with an ear cocked to Thor's words. Exactly as Loki had said they would. Loki himself was currently paying very stringent attention to a venison sandwich he had been patiently constructing since Frigga passed him the dish. He was delicately arranging strands of onion with careful fingers and looking at his brother not at all. "Perhaps you would care to see the results?"

"You interest me strangely," said Odin, with the tiniest breath of sarcasm edging his voice. "Proceed."

Thor was elated. So far, so good, and just as Loki had predicted. He rose from his seat, Mjolnir sliding down into his practiced grip, and nodded to Loki, who had put down his sandwich and was now watching him obediently, waiting for his cue.

"Come along, brother," Thor beamed, hugely enjoying the sensation of all eyes now upon him. He swung Mjolnir once for effect, the firelight gleaming warmly from the haft and head. "Let's _play_."


	9. Chapter 9

_"The play__'__s the thing_

_Wherein I__'__ll catch the conscience of the king."_

_- Hamlet_

* * *

><p>"I am Thor, King of all Asgard and protector of the Nine Realms!"<p>

Each of us, whether we know it or not, is made up of moments - moments of thought, moments of memory. We move between those moments, not noticing the divide between one and the next, and all around us the used moments pile up like drifts of snow, both colouring our way forward and describing what lies behind us. One moment of fear is enough to change our whole passage: one moment of joy enough to move us forward with greater speed. This phenomenon we call time, and we do rather take it for granted.

One moment of doubt, however small, can slow us down at crucial points. One moment of doubt can turn us against the current as easily as a butterfly turns against the air with a flick of its wings.

"_I am Thor!__"_

Thor was one of those rare people pleasantly unhindered by doubt in that moment. He was enjoying himself immensely: while appreciating a good show, he had not previously understood the sensation that drove actors to act and players to play. This was such _fun_. Opposite him, in the centre of the feasting hall, with all the diners watching from behind their long tables, stood Loki, his spine very straight, his expression equally revelling in the game but merely intent where Thor was triumphant.

"Who will challenge the safety of Asgard while I rule as king? Who will come and taste Mjolnir's wrath?"

There was a scattering of cheers from the assembled audience at that point. Asgardians loved stories, especially if they were about fighting. They were told such stories in their cribs and grew up re-telling them - usually, in the case of small Asgardian boys, with themselves re-cast in the leading role. This was clearly a variation on one of their most popular tales, and Odin, watching carefully, recognised that he was usually the protagonist.

"I am the mighty Thor!" the man himself bellowed, and the cheering got louder. Even Frigga, despite herself, was smiling, because her son was so clearly happy. And even Fandral raised a fist in support, because Thor was infectious when he was like this. You would follow him into the mouth of the wolf behind the dying sun, under the feet of the giant, into the coils of the serpent.

Such people are dangerous. But there are other people more dangerous still.

"Asgard is safe while my strong arm protects it."

Thor stood still, his head turned away: and in that moment Loki moved. Every gesture, every turn of his body was calculated to give the impression he wanted: that of a pantomime villain. His performance would have easily been recognised on Midgard as that common in silent films - all he was lacking was a top hat, a big moustache and a railway track onto which he could tie the terrified girl.

Except that silent film villains are almost comical by modern standards, and something about Loki's predatory stance wasn't funny at all.

"You think I am Loki, but I am not," he said, softly, and his whisper carried uncomfortably close to the ear of every Asgardian seated at dinner. The cheering stopped, became a subdued murmur. "I am that which you all fear. I am the slow-growing ice, I am the unseen permafrost beneath your feet. I am the faithful dog which turns rabid and bites your children."

His words snapped at the audience's throats and wrists, and some even drew their hands back, rubbing the unbroken skin.

"I am your enemy clothed in a form you love," hissed Loki, and Odin actually leant forward in his chair. Thor was watching their father closely. "I am a Frost Giant, clothed in Jotun sorcery, and I am here to overthrow Asgard!"

That last phrase cracked like a whip, breaking the spell: the audience began to applaud. What an actor, the second son of Odin! What skill with words! What an imagination! And it was all so patently ludicrous that even Loki's terrible, crawling words could be safely enjoyed as part of a glorious fantasy. They began looking forward to the inevitable conflict. Here, presented clearly, was hero, and here was villain, too - the only possible outcome of this story was a fight, and Asgardians loved to see a fight. Odin himself seemed unusually still, but made no comment, either to support or deny.

"I see my brother Loki and I think he has run mad," declaimed Thor, brandishing Mjolnir (which also raised further cheers). "He threatens our safety. What may I do?"

Audience participation is also a popular theme in Asgardian theatre.

"Kill the Frost Giant!"

"Drive out the infiltrator!"

"Mjolnir! Mjolnir!"

Thor nodded, pacing, head up.

"My brother Loki would not threaten our safety. Therefore this is _not _my brother Loki."

Odin's expression was carefully unreadable. This egotistical jamboree of Thor's was like some hideous, waking nightmare. He saw the whole scene as if in slow motion around him, so clear he could almost count ash motes hanging in the air. There was Thor, behaving like the brash, arrogant child he evidently was, proclaiming himself king already and inviting public opinion to sway his decisions. Swinging the hammer around as if it were of no more importance than a soup spoon! And then there was Loki, shouting aloud for anyone to hear that he was in fact a Frost Giant.

Odin had been so careful: there was no possible way Loki could know the truth. No, it was evidently a horrible co-incidence, and Odin felt like laying the blame for it occurring at all squarely in Thor's lap. The idiot had obviously set this all up as a ploy to gain yet more popularity before his coronation, and getting Loki's co-operation in playing the villain would have been simplicity itself. Loki liked a chance to show off his skills as much as anybody, and putting on a good, imaginative show was certainly one of his strong points.

_But what can I do….?_

Demand the play stopped, and the people would want to know why the great Odin took such exception to a harmless fantasy. A harmless fantasy put on entirely for his benefit, and performed by their beloved Thor, indeed. Show any form of distress, even the smallest, and the confidence of the people in their old, weary king would falter still further. There would be murmurs that the Odinsleep was far too long overdue, and in the face of an even more popular Thor, what would they think? That perhaps there was some truth in the wretched story. And that option could never even be entertained, Odin considered, surprising even himself at how determined he was to protect Loki from finding out about his true origins - and at his motives for wanting to do so. _It's not just about the long game, not anymore. I love that boy - _

Or, at the very least, they would be bound to see Odin's reaction as a lack of confidence in his chosen heir. Another option that was utterly insupportable. By presenting his "revelation" in a public arena, Thor had made it impossible for Odin to react in any way that would seem reasonable. It was almost too perfect, this trap. But Thor couldn't possibly know how much of a difficult situation his ridiculous popularity gambit was putting his father in, and it would be a hot day in Jotunheim before Odin would ever admit to being cornered. The Allfather watched Loki stalk forward, and pushed his lips into a smile. He raised his tankard and took a drink, perfectly natural and normal. _So I will do nothing…_

"Asgard," snarled Loki to Thor, raising a hand which obediently wreathed itself in living fire at his command, "will fall. What will you do? Decide."

The assembled diners bayed in appreciation of the spectacle. Thor paused (_overly long_, thought Loki, wryly, _we'll have to work on your timing, dear brother_) before raising his hammer in answer to the threat, and laughing.

"I will slay you, for I know you are not my true brother!" he shouted. And swung at Loki's head.

Loki ducked. His hand spat flame, which screamed impressively (but harmlessly) past Thor's torso. The thunder god charged him like a bull, head down, and only Loki's swift reactions seemed to keep him from being trampled; he leapt the hammer as it took a punishing swipe at his knees. Sparks flew up from his fingers. Hogun, chewing a turkey leg morosely, winced at the memory of those sparks hitting his face.

It was a good show, and Thor, concentrating hard on not hurting his brother, could nevertheless feel that some of the diners had come to their feet, exhorting him with their cries to greater efforts. This was what being a king was all about. The people, and their admiration of your deeds.

Loki, darting and dodging with grace and ease, and laughing madly in the way that even now made Fandral twitch, only hoped that this would be over soon. He was very tired, now: the effort of the magic was draining, and he hadn't even had any dinner.

Mjolnir found its mark, as it was inevitable that it would. On impact, Loki's body dissolved into a million green butterflies, scattering upward in a spiralling column of wings. The audience gasped as one, silent at the sight: then broke into unified cheers and applause as the real Loki walked out from behind the dais, his hands raised, and bowed at their appreciation of his talents. He was smiling as he straightened, and then he met Odin's eye.

Between Odin and Loki at least, everything stopped. One awful moment in Loki's life seemed to stretch and slow as he saw the expression that Odin had fastened on him. He continued to smile, accept Thor thumping him on the back, the friendly blows jarring him. All he could see was that infinite, matchless single eye seeming to tear into his very soul, and knew that in this of all moments he could not afford to doubt his own abilities. But it was too hard -

_Was it too much? Should I have chosen bats, or birds, not butterflies?_

_Does he suspect?_

_Does he _know_?_

Odin stared silently for the duration of that moment, which to Loki (still smiling and accepting his applause) was agony. Then he slowly set down his tankard, brought his hands together, and joined the applause.


	10. Chapter 10

_And all for the want of a horseshoe nail__…_

Loki sat through the rest of dinner in a perfect ferment of emotion, the seething feelings inside him touching his pale brow and features not at all. He smiled, and laughed, and accepted compliments: he savaged his way through a whole pheasant in a manner positively Volstaggian, and gave the appearance of drinking a quite frightening amount.

By Hela, but he was _hungry_.

Magic is a complicated force. By rights, it should not exist in this dimension at all - it comes from an entirely other place, and can be tapped only by those with natural gifts. It is not like muscle strength, which builds with use. Magic almost fares better with disuse, as it exacts a certain toll on the user. And any additional build-up of magic cannot simply be released, harmlessly. Magic is showy and vain. It needs to go out with a bang or not at all.

The little show Loki had been staging so carefully over the past few months had been an almost constant slow drain on his resources, and now he was physically spent. It had all been so unpredictable, that had been the problem. Such was the nature of madness, after all. Some days he had summoned up huge reserves of power, only to need a pittance: other days he had scraped through a performance with barely enough magic in him to light a penny candle. It had been inconvenient in the extreme. So on those days when he'd been so swamped with magic it had almost risen up his throat and choked him, he'd taken to throwing little pockets of reserved power out into the world, disguised in dusty green wings. Even he'd been surprised at how well it had worked, although they were nasty, vicious little things, his magic batteries. They liked to eat living flesh, and getting the power back of them at close range could be a painful prospect, as he'd discovered to his cost that first time.

_Fitting_, thought Loki, pouring more wine that he had no intention of drinking,_ a reminder that magic can hinder me as well as help me. _

He was willing to bet that almost every remaining green butterfly in Asgard had perished tonight, and good riddance to them, as they'd quite possibly (albeit unwittingly) ruined everything he'd been working for. Damn the magic! So used to creating the things instinctively in case he needed them, he'd not paid enough attention to the way he'd thrown his simulacra's form apart at the climax of the play. The devil's in the detail. Careless. He almost deserved any punishment of Odin's for being stupid. Anger seared across the anxiety clinging to his mind.

Loki was not given to panic. Panic was for other people who found it hard to cope when their tiny, unstable personal worlds were challenged. It was messy and fun to inspire, but hard to control or predict. He wasn't panicking now, but he was thinking so hard that it took all the self-control he had (which was a lot) to stop even a flicker of the effort showing on his face.

A big, meaty fist pummelled his shoulder abruptly, almost derailing his train of thought.

"You're too quiet, brother!"

Loki ignored this. Thor's idea of "too quiet" would have easily encompassed a party thrown in a whorehouse thrown for three hundred or so of his bosom companions, their every move accompanied on drum and lyre by sixty crazed musicians. Instead, he beamed idiotically into the thunder god's answering gold-bearded grin, raised his tankard and generally gave the appearance of being almost too drunk to speak.

Thor roared with laughter at this and with a final enthusiastic shove at Loki's ribs retreated to the table of the Warriors Three, who, Loki was glad to see, were treating him absolutely as normal - as in, they were all getting extremely inebriated together and pretending to beat each other up. Sometimes, but only sometimes and generally when he was in one of his more morose moods, Loki wondered what it would be like to get extremely drunk with friends.

Unfortunately, even had Loki truly considered any Asgardians his friends, he was far too suspicious to want to lose control in that way when someone could take advantage of him.

_And tonight of all nights - I need to be in control. For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost, for the want of a shoe, the horse was lost…_

Always those little things, those little details that can be the difference between a threat and a gift. Always the quiet ones you have to watch. He was still confident, if he was honest with himself (and the only person Loki was ever _completely _honest with was himself) but there was the small matter of Odin.

The god of mischief deliberately did not look at the Allfather as he leant forward to put more wine that he wasn't going to drink into his tankard. If anyone was being too quiet, it was Odin, and that probably didn't bode well at all.

_For no want of butterflies, the game was lost_, paraphrased Loki sourly in the privacy of his own head, pretending to quaff and managing to dispose of most of the wine with a quick, cheap transformation spell. But there was nothing further to be done at the dinner table. In some ways, the fact that Odin had not exploded in a towering rage in public was a positive sign. Think positive, as they say in Midgard.

A rejoicing bellow went up from Thor's table, and Loki made sure to raise his tankard in pseudo-drunken salute. It was a little amusing, really: people tended to think of chaos as loud, raucous, jarring - just like that chorus of mindless testosterone-fuelled jubilation. And of course that could be true, but chaos didn't have to be like that. In fact, the best chaos in Loki's opinion was the stuff you didn't see coming until it was far too late. The quiet stuff, the stuff that had to be coaxed and nurtured like a seed until it burst through the surface and into bloom, fully formed. A flower may look simple and serene, but just take a look beneath the soil and the illusion is shattered as you try to follow every spindly, interlocking, maze-like root that sustains that simple beauty. Organized, planned chaos.

That was the part that was the most _fun_.

Loki, to all external appearances weaving very slightly in his chair and unable to hold his drink, allowed his complicated considerations to reach a conclusion behind slightly glassy green eyes. He could sense Odin watching both him and Thor with equal intensity, although the Allfather was being careful not to make his scrutiny obvious. _Well, two can play at that game, _thought Loki, _and I am by far the better player, Father_.

They would both have been surprised to learn that their thoughts at that point were practically identical: _Wait. Be patient. Watch. Don't give yourself away by doing something that may not be necessary. _

And it would also have been an unpleasant revelation to Thor just how similar was the scorn his father and brother held in their hearts for him that night.

The next time Thor came bounding over to Loki's chair and flung an arm around him in slavish golden-labrador-dog enthusiasm, Loki allowed himself to be knocked out of his seat and to slump in an alcoholic heap under the table.

And he wasn't surprised at all to find a packet of books waiting for him on his bedside shelves once an unseen someone (who nevertheless was unmistakably Thor by the smell of him) had scooped up his seemingly unconscious body and placed it with a good deal of care into bed. It had been a good thing Loki wasn't really that drunk: it would truly have taken a vat of strong ale to provoke the depth of unconsciousness that could not be disturbed by Thor carrying you rather drunkenly through the halls of Asgard. Loki's boots had knocked against innumerable doorways, and his artistically lolling head had swung dangerously close to the podia of statues before Thor had noticed and judiciously tucked his brother's slender form closer into the crook of his enormous arm.

Loki skimmed the titles of the books as soon as he was left alone in his rooms, smiled to himself perhaps just a little sadly, then curled up like a cat with his hand covering his eyes and slept an exhausted and dreamless sleep for the first time in over a month.

* * *

><p>Outside, underneath the star-studded heavens, Odin Allfather started the long walk out across the Bifrost alone. His pace was slow, but purposeful: and ahead of him his goal, the ever-present and vigilant figure of Heimdall, standing golden and incorruptible at the gateway to the worlds.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note: I'm sorry this update's taken a while. Life interferes with art, and all that…**_

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><p><em><strong>"Odin:<strong>__ You seem to know more than I do!_

_**Loki:**__ It's a trifle late for you to realise that! If you, who know everything, didn't know how that game…would end, then what is your knowledge worth? But if you knew how the game would end, and you yourself didn't want it to end like that, then where is your power?"_

_- from "Ragnarok (The downfall of the gods)" by Ville Sorensen_

* * *

><p>"Tell me what you have seen today."<p>

Golden eyes regarded Odin inscrutably. The doorkeeper leant on his massive sword and murmured, in a voice like the sound of distant thunder:

"Everything, my king?"

Odin smiled. The raven, Thought, stretched a wing from his shoulder.

"My friend, you and I both know we have not the time. Tell me what you have seen my sons doing together today."

Heimdall paused, his gaze fixing on that most distant of countries, Memory. Odin's other raven, as if to assist, circled Heimdall's heavy shoulders before alighting. Heimdall, because he saw everything, was always careful with his words. He spoke only fact, not supposition, and he always answered only the particular question he was asked.

"Your sons have been fighting together today. I have seen Prince Thor strike Prince Loki's face. I have seen Prince Loki throwing fire from his hands into the face of Prince Thor. I have seen them talk together at length. I have seen them come to dinner. I have seen them perform a combat spectacle in the great hall, for which they were applauded. I have seen -"

Odin held up one hand in a gesture for _enough_.

"And my wife?"

"My lord -"

"My _wife_, Heimdall."

Heimdall was never comfortable with this kind of question. For a man to keep track of his own sons, particularly sons with the power of Thor and Loki, that was commendable. For a man to have his wife watched? Sometimes, Heimdall thought, it was too easy for people to forget that he was Asgardian, like them, not just a conduit for his extraordinary sight. Nonetheless, he was bound, and so he answered.

"I have seen the Lady Frigga walk in her garden and feed the sparrows. I have seen her follow Fandral the Warrior to the side of Prince Loki when he was injured. I have seen her talk with Prince Loki and hold him in her arms. I have seen her take books from the library. I -"

Again that quick gesture from Odin to stop.

"Who sent Fandral to fetch my wife to Loki's side?"

"Prince Thor, my lord."

Odin was silent. Here under the stars, the ruler of Asgard looked older and more tired than he would have wanted to believe. The Odinsleep was near: it would restore him, bring him back into his strength, but he could not and would not enter such a vulnerable state while he was still king. Asgard needed its leader, a strong arm and a strong head. Thor had one, and Loki the other. But of course the only place Loki could ever be king was Jotunheim. Even though he loved him, Odin knew it was true. The risk was too great.

But having watched that little extravagance during dinner, Odin's already doubting mind was tipping to wonder just how much of a risk it was to put rambunctious, impetuous Thor on the throne without a more thoughtful edge to guide him_. If I am in Odinsleep, he will rule alone….and I don't feel as if I can trust him entirely not to do something catastrophically stupid. Like blurting out a truth best kept hidden in a moment of drunken unconcern._

Ah, if only one could mould Thor and Loki into one, like wax dolls: expose them to the flame just long enough to soften them and press them to his will. But then there were things about Loki that didn't entirely speak well for his role as advisor to his brother, and Odin, who knew many things and was uncomfortable with unanswered questions, couldn't quite reconcile his thoughts on his adopted son either.

It said rather a lot about Odin that, having imagined his sons presented as wax, he would go on to hold them close to the damaging fire in the hope of improving them both.

He was beginning to feel that creeping sense of presentiment that had, in history, accompanied only the gravest of periods in his own personal history and the history of his world. This feeling is common, even among mortals: it is that sensation you may have felt upon waking on your lowest days, the feeling that in the night some unseen hand has taken you up by wrist and ankle and bound you at the joints with picture-wire – and that those wires in turn, though slack now, can at any point be drawn tight and cruelly dragged to and fro by an invisible, uncaring puppeteer. You do not know when this may happen, nor entirely why, but the sense of wrongness and confinement persists. Even without a physical cage, it is very easy to become hopelessly trapped.

And worst of all, you know at the back of your mind that at some point you will have to take deliberate and potentially unpleasant action to try and escape. What does the wolf sacrifice when the iron-jawed trap clamps onto its leg? Its life? Or its paw?

"Heimdall," the Allfather murmured, "tell me about any butterflies you have seen today."

Heimdall knew better than to question such an odd request, although he almost ached to answer different questions. But it was not his place to tell the lord of Asgard what he should want to know. So instead he proceeded to tell Odin everything he knew about that day's butterflies, and Odin stood in the refracted light from Bifrost and listened, most carefully.

* * *

><p>Six days to go.<p>

Thor awoke in the morning light and knew that his days as a mere prince of Asgard were numbered. But rather than feeling his father's hobbling sense of an oncoming storm, Thor felt only the golden threads of his ambition pulling him ever upward.

Six days, sunrise and moonset, and then he would be king. His head ached a little from the late night and the drinking, but it had all been worth it. The play had been a complete success, and even Loki had got so drunk he'd passed out. Thor felt a surge of affection for his brother in that moment. Loki had weighed nothing to carry. A miracle really that the smaller man's huge brain didn't weigh him down.

Loki had always been smaller, when they'd been growing up. They'd had the same food to eat, the same games to play, the same training with Odin's personal guard. Thor had swiftly grown into his bulk and muscle and co-ordination in combat.

But Loki…Loki had grown up thin and lean, as if he was putting all his energy into some other place, and he had often had his head rung uncompromisingly in the sparring circle. He started spending more time with that head in a book, more time talking to uncommon people and wandering Asgard at length.

Six days to go. Thor swung himself from his bed and prepared for going out.

The people loved him because he was like the light of day: bright, boisterous and open. His brother was Asgard's moonlight: quiet, made for secrecy.

* * *

><p>Loki woke up, and was immediately and intently alert. He was neither hungry, nor tired, not joyful or sad (not entirely) nor truly anything other than focussed.<p>

Six days to go.

Time to talk to Jotunheim.


	12. Chapter 12

"Loki, my boy."

The sunny corridor suddenly felt oppressive. Loki's spine snapped straight, like a cracked whip. Odin's tone was avuncular, which in itself was suspicious in his opinion. He used that tone with Thor when the great idiot had done something almost suicidally heroic, usually when they were all sat about in the great hall, carousing.

Loki hated carousing. It wasted time and you couldn't have a decent conversation with anyone with all that off-key singing going on in the background. Still, it kept Thor occupied, and therefore must have its merits.

He turned his head rather than his body and peeked at Odin over one shoulder, knowing full well he looked younger and more innocent when he did so.

Odin looked into Loki's eyes and thought, _I must be getting old. _

"Come here," he called, seeing Loki's surprise written all over the younger man's body language. Odin was suddenly and painfully aware that it had been a very long time since he'd called Loki to him to just…talk. Like a parent should do. No wonder Loki was surprised. _And a little scared, perhaps? Just a hint of it in the eyes and the posture of his spine?_

Well, that too wasn't surprising. Years since he'd been personally called by his father, of course he was bound to assume -

"Yes, Father?"

Loki folded his hands inside one another behind his back and used just a tiny push of pressure into his lumbar region to try and dispel the building tension. This wasn't in the plan. He held Odin's monocular gaze solemnly, trying to read the old man's intentions, and (for once) failing. The Allfather seemed, of all things, to be vacillating between emotions.

The Odinsleep must be closer than either of them had thought. Mustn't shock the old man, then, not now. Not so close.

"Are you busy this morning?" Odin asked, carefully. Mustn't spook the shy young wolf you were trying to trap. Softly, softly. Loki blinked, his face still showing nothing more than surprise and a little curiosity.

"I was making some preparations for Thor's ceremony. Why? Do you need me for something?"

They were both surprised by the sudden evidence of rawness in that last simple question.

_He really wants me to need him for something_, thought Odin, the concept actually touching him - too little, too late.

_Oh, Hel, I really want him to need me_, thought Loki, desperately, _how weak. How like Thor. I hate this, I hate it. I hate __**him**__._

Odin shook his head, mildly, not wanting Loki to see he'd noticed how flustered his adopted son was getting. "Tell me about your preparations," he said. Loki looked at him as if he'd just fallen naked out of a cloudless sky.

When one watches two wolves fight, it is generally obvious even to the casual observer how little the two of them actually tussle until there is no other option left. They stalk around each other, stiff-legged, hackles up and ears forward aggressively. They snarl horribly, may feint at each other's thick ruffs with snapping teeth.

But wolves know they are as strong as their pack. Without a healthy pack to hunt for food, a wolf can be vulnerable. They don't want to injure each other unless that is the only thing left to do. So they posture and strut and play the big man in the hopes of catching the other out in a moment of weakness. Wolves, after all, are all about hierarchy. You're only as big as your last show of strength.

"Well," said Loki, still taking care to regard Odin as if his father was mildly insane, "I'd been thinking about a little show. For the actual moment of the coronation, you know. I haven't told Thor about it." He paused, trying to gauge the other man's reaction. "It's meant to be a surprise."

"Hmmm," murmured Odin. "This show wouldn't involve a number of green butterflies, would it?"

He basked in the satisfaction of seeing Loki's green eyes open wide and his lips part in shock. Around the shy wolf, the unseen net was closing tight.

"Don't bother to say it doesn't. I'm old, but I am not foolish. Heimdall saw you playing with the things all yesterday, and besides, your…part in that performance last night was telling." He caught a tiny motion of Loki's entire body, as if the boy was coiling up every single last one of his muscles with intent to run, and raised both his hands in a calming, gentling motion. "I'm not _angry_, Loki. But I am…concerned."

"Concerned? Why?"

Loki was cold, like ice. His voice was the very embodiment of polite query, while his mind raged at its boundaries, testing probabilities and solutions at the rate of a hundred a second. The most cunning of spider webs can be torn apart by one blundering moth. One missed footing can cost a life. On the brink, his heel pressing at empty air, hanging on tearing silk, Loki did the only sensible thing.

He did nothing, and waited for Odin to take the lead.

"You remember," said Odin, laying a paternal hand on Loki's shoulder and leading him out into the cloisters, "when Thor broke your mother's best berry bowl?"

"Of course," said Loki, pushing a whimsical smile across his lips.

"He told me he didn't know his own strength. That he'd only meant to hold it tightly while he was carrying it, so that he didn't drop it." Odin turned Loki with a push against that shoulder and looked at him seriously. "I think you are much like Thor, Loki. I think you don't know your own strength, with your magic."

The utter fury at this comparison, long-looked for in his formative years and never found, never showed itself for a second in Loki's eyes.

"Your little insects were the reason I had to ride out yesterday." He took a moment to choose his next words, and in the end went for bluntness. "You need greater control, my son."

There was the smallest moment of incredibly thoughtful silence, then:

"Really, Father," said Loki, casting his eyes down in a consummate display of humbled shame, "I had no idea. I just thought they were pretty."

"Pretty?"

Odin's eye narrowed sharply, dangerously: then the moment passed, and he let out a bark of laughter. "I suppose they are, at that," he said, and Loki, his turbulent emotions beginning to ease by the second, kept his face down in the traditional being-taken-to-task pose known to every schoolboy since the dawn of man. Inside, he was close to laughing too. He didn't see Odin draw closer, but felt the weight of the man's hand increase where it lay awkwardly on his shoulder.

"You're a clever boy," said Odin, softly. "Don't let your brain blind you to your brother's worth, and don't let his brashness fool you either."

"Oh," said Loki, warmly, his voice as full of uplifting sentiment as an orchestral overture rising to the peak, "don't worry. I won't."

* * *

><p>Roughly an hour later, had one been standing close enough to the edge of the rainbow bridge to look into the guardian's face as he stared out across the gulf of stars, one might have seen a look of confusion in those depthless eyes.<p>

Heimdall had just looked for Prince Loki, and seen only what felt to him like a freezing mist: impenetrable, concealing, and lethal.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note: Yes, it's **__**that**__** time, folks. This chapter, and the ones following, will contain film dialogue and situations.**_

* * *

><p>It is no wonder, really, that the residents of Midgard saw the ranks of the Asgardian army as the very vanguard of some distant heaven. Humans, unfortunately, have a genetic weakness in them that always pushes them to look outside themselves for salvation. They had found their gods on that dark day against the Frost Giants, and never would their faith have seemed more justified than on the day of the new king's investiture.<p>

The golden great hall, filled to bursting with Asgardians keen to see the beloved Odinson on his day of glory, seemed to shine all the more brightly when Thor walked into it. A thousand indrawn breaths: a thousand whispers of admiration for the royal prince, that instantly turned into roars of approval when the man himself actually appeared. The walls rang with the music of public approbation, and Thor in the middle of it all with the hammer raised like a conductor with his baton, exhorting them to greater efforts. It was, all in all, as great and glorious and hopeful an experience as anyone could hope to be part of in their lifetime.

And Loki stood on the steps at the side of Odin's throne and thought about murder, amongst other things. He'd been an exemplary brother for the past few days, and kept out from under Odin's feet as much as possible, although he didn't like at all the number of times he'd felt Heimdall's endless gaze pushing at his external limits of his magic.

The watchman of the gods was showing an altogether undue interest in Loki, as far as Loki was concerned. He'd never cared for Heimdall: there was just something about the man that made Loki's hackles rise, in much the same way as a human might say that they felt someone had just walked over their grave. Something would have to come to a head, there, and some instinct in Loki older than his blood or his muscles was telling him it wouldn't be good. Now he tried his best to look very slightly bored and unconcerned as Thor approached, winking at their mother and making Sif roll her eyes in amused disapproval.

Wasn't it just so simple to be a king, to slavishly lap up adulation given so freely, provided you gave the public what they wanted? Always what they wanted - not always what was good for them, of course, because quite often what is good for you isn't completely pleasant. Such a difficult sell. It's good for a child to take their medicine, but it tastes nasty; it's good to train hard and make yourself strong, but it often hurts. Popularity is cheap and easy for kings. It's the other people who have to make the hard decisions, and they're rarely popular. Even when the child is sick from too many sweets or the body grows soft and flabby from underuse, it's never popular to take the chocolate away or force a diet.

But then Loki had never wanted that particular kind of popularity. The popularity he wanted was far harder to gain, but in his eyes worth far more.

Murder played out in a hundred thousand ways behind Loki's eyes as he studied his fingernails in an exquisite display of polite disinterest. It was very important to get that balance right. Too interested and you looked like a blubbering sycophant. Too bored and you looked like a traitor of the realm. It really wouldn't do for any Asgardian to say afterward: "Did you see Prince Loki? He looked as if he was bored to tears. He obviously doesn't care for his brother at all."

Thor never looked at his brother once. He traded glances with the Warriors, his father, his mother…but not Loki. For him, Loki had faded into the periphery. Today was Thor's day, a day that no doubt even mortals would see fit to commemorate in some timeless fashion, and Loki would be forgotten as he always was, pushed into the shadow by Thor's brilliance.

It would have been enough to make Loki furious, had he not gone far beyond that emotion at this point. Loki was operating serenely in that state of sated calm common to those who are actually doing something about the cause of their rage rather than purely sitting and fermenting in bitterness.

So he looked at his fingernails and ignored Odin's pointed comments about heir and firstborn and waited for the interruption that he'd so carefully staged.

Like any jilted lover at a wedding throughout history, Loki knew you couldn't interrupt a ceremony at just _any_ point.

It just _had_ to be at that final moment, the absolute point of no return, when Odin, rather than saying the words that would make Asgard wedded to her groom Thor forever, instead looked up from his seat in alarm and said -

* * *

><p>But that was Loki's beautiful moment in time, and he wanted to let it stretch, not moving onto the next moment immediately. In his mind, he took time to look at twenty minutes previously, when he had said, with a smile and absolutely no sense of irony as the last of the butterflies nestled dead and dusty in his pocket: "Ooh. Nice feathers."<p>

Thor grinned at him, showing his teeth like the big dumb animal he was, while Loki drew his lips further back from his teeth like a grimacing tiger.

"You don't really want to start this again, do you? Cow?"

Loki tipped his shining golden horns down in self-deprecating amusement. He'd never really considered his official armour as anything other than decorative. For a moment he was tempted to tell Thor that he used the massive curving projections to distil magic out of the air. The man would probably swallow it beautifully - but no. _Be sensible. Restrain yourself, trickster. Don't throw the whole scheme away, no matter how amusing it would be_. Instead he said:

"I was being sincere."

"You are incapable of sincerity."

That was almost too close to home. Loki tilted his head coyly, playing along. "Am I?"

"Yes!"

But there was playfulness there, not conviction.

Loki made certain to look up and meet Thor's eyes directly. One must always be prepared to do this, especially when one is actually telling the truth for once. Truth is such an interesting commodity, because it's really all about perception. Something may be true to two different people, but in two entirely different ways.

"I've looked forward to this day as long as you have," he said, and his voice curled up around Thor like the memory of kicking leaves in autumn, a warm and insidious nostalgia. "My brother, and my friend. Sometimes I'm envious. But never doubt that I love you."

He watched those words and their attendant, automatic sorcery rise through Thor from his boots to his golden hair and saw them almost physically warm him. Too easy, perhaps.

"Thankyou," Thor murmured, one huge, meaty hand reaching to clasp Loki between the neck and shoulder. Loki deliberately quashed the tiny reaction that wanted this to be real and not part of the game. Wanting to be wanted was too dangerous an emotion, too strong. He rebelled against this dangerous sensation and lashed out with a powerful but facetious-seeming flick of words and magic, dispelling the moment.

"Now give us a kiss."

Thor had sputtered with laughter and given him a shove.

* * *

><p>Odin looked up from his seat in alarm and said: "Frost Giants!"<p>

And Loki made sure that he looked suitably shocked - although he couldn't help the tiniest of glances toward Thor, just to imprint upon his memory the look of childishly frustrated ambition. Such moments were truly worth treasuring.


	14. Chapter 14

No matter how strong one's self-assurance or intelligence might be, it is always possible to wonder if one has gone too far. Loki found himself almost genuinely recoiling from the snarling venom in Odin's gaze and took a moment - but only the tiniest one - to do so.

"Father - "

"No!"

Odin's jaw was set, his very face trembling as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Loki was very glad indeed that the ire of the Allfather was not directed at him, in the main. The main subject of Odin's absolute rage was stood across the observatory, looking unrepentant.

And for once, Loki agreed with Thor's choice. Being unrepentant was probably in fact the safest option at this particular moment. Looking hurt and apologetic clearly wasn't working for him (he slunk out of the chamber as quickly as possible, looking as obedient as possible) and he had a hunch that trying to explain their little trip to Jotunheim in terms a reasonable man might understand would go down right now just about as well as a noisy chauvanist at a Valkyrie banquet.

At the moment, Odin was not looking like a reasonable man in the smallest degree. His single eye almost glowed with his anger, and his gnashing teeth spat flecked foam as he bit out words. This was no longer someone's dear old dad, nor the stern father of beloved if wayward sons. This was not even just Odin, leader and ruler of all Asgard. This was the Allfather, the legendary warrior overtaking the mere figure of the man. Once again, Loki's thoughts returned to orbit the concept of having taken that one step too far as he hurried along the corridors of the mighty, keeping his face schooled into an expression of alarmed chagrin. The alarm was extremely easy to provide with the memory of the recent battle and even more recent vision of Odin. It was certainly an interesting idea…

But then again, what was too far? If one's aim is to discredit one's brother so severely in the hearts and minds of his closest allies and family that they are prepared to close him out of his birthright, one must be prepared for a certain amount of friction. And friction wasn't always unpleasant, now was it?

Before the smile this thought prompted could overtake his control and escape onto his face, Loki retired to his own rooms, to wait. A few foot from his doors, a thin hand made a gesture: and around his boots as he walked in coiled a half dozen whip-thin snakes, conjured out of the air. They darted off, sinuous and silent, under all the furniture and into all the corners. It was a habit of Loki's he'd picked up growing up with an older brother: nothing and nobody was going to be hiding in his room without his knowledge. Snakes are nosy and inquisitive, needing to touch everything with their quick tongues, and these conjured emerald things were just as good as life in that respect. A couple of mice skittered out from behind the tallest shelves as the sorceries passed by, but that was all. Just mice.

When he had been younger - when they'd both been younger - Loki's burgeoning sorcery had found all sorts of things laid to annoy him or indeed actually hurt him in the corners of his room. Once, it had been Thor himself, although quite how he'd managed to squeeze himself _and_ his ego under the teenage Loki's bed Loki would never know. When he'd gotten a new bed to suit his adult frame, it had been practically flush to the floor in result.

Oh, but it was terribly tiring, pretending. Loki sat down on the marble sill of his only window and huffed a breath out through his teeth. His snakes, their job done, gathered back to their father and cosied up around his boots. He called them further up with a flick of his fingers, enjoying the snap and tingle of his own magic crawling across his skin before dismissing the creatures into dissipating smoke with a thought. Tendrils of remaindered snake curled out of his sleeves.

_Would that I could dismiss Thor so easily._

He would perhaps have been surprised to know that Odin was doing almost that very thing. Even really well-thought-out plans can still surprise their progenitor in the very simplicity of their resolution.

* * *

><p>All words have power, but some have more power than others. Perhaps it is the ones that sound most like what they mean.<p>

Banished.

Frigga screams it, first in disbelief and then in fury, at her husband.

Sif mouths it, silently, while Volstagg actually stops eating a chicken leg and Fandral slams his fist into the wall. Hogun sits without reaction, staring at his feet while the word moves through his body like sickness, drawing weakness through them all.

Thor cannot even bring himself to repeat it.

_Banished. _

Heimdall sees the echoes of the word spill out across Asgard, watches with his extraordinary vision the ripples of its implication move through the Realms. It is like watching a crowded street from high above and noting the passage of a gunman. Ripples of motion, spilling out from a dreadful, chaotic epicentre.

Within him, his strong, loyal heart sinks. Heimdall almost more than anyone is connected to what is and what will be - what has been and what is to come. Winter catches at his soul, a long, long winter that has no promise of spring or redemption of sun.

Heimdall knows what the fate of the gods will be, because there is a point beyond which even his eyes cannot glimpse. And today he feels his feet, unwilling, inexorably taking those first steps into the hoarfrost.

* * *

><p><em>Have I gone too far?<em>

Loki looked up into the sky, which was roiling with clouds around the observatory, and fancied he tasted snow on the air.

_Not even slightly._


End file.
